Biggest Little City in the World" (5/5)
by AngelFood
Summary: Mulder and Scully in San Francisco...


**Disclaimers in part 1** 

Even though he'd worked with the woman for years, Mulder still expected Scully, like most women, to walk out of the bathroom after five minutes with wet hair, mumbling something about picking another dress. Instead, her hair was perfect, make-up was applied, she was completely dressed (looking far removed from the suited-Scully he saw daily) and picking up her jacket. As she collected her purse, she said "Let's go," and walked towards the door. 

Must be the military upbringing, he decided as he followed her down the hall. Five minutes would in fact _be_ five minutes to someone with a father in the military. Otherwise… she'd have said ten. He looked at her, and was surprised to see her looking back. "What're you thinking?" she asked, in response to the furrowed brow expression on his face. 

"Aww, nothing," he said rapidly. Glancing at her again to confirm that she was, in fact ship-shape in the allotted five minutes, he caught her eye. "You look nice," he said, covering. "Very… different from the office." 

"Well, I'm on vacation, aren't I?" she answered with a smile. "And you look nice too." The elevator doors opened and they walked out simultaneously while she thought of the last time she'd seen him in jeans and a sweater. Quite a while, actually. It was one of her favorite looks for men, although the normal appeal of the outfit was lost on Mulder, being… Mulder. The one who'd sabotaged her time-alone vacation. Who'd… walked in on her in the bathtub… 

"You didn't see anything when I was in the bathtub, did you?" she asked suddenly. 

Mulder tried not to laugh. Talk about a delayed reaction, he thought. "No, Scully, there were bubbles. You're safe." Opening the door for her before the concierge, he ushered her outside while she contemplated his answer. He claimed not to have seen anything, but… it was Mulder she was dealing with. That smirk on his face could be any number of things, but glee over a quick peek seemed most likely. She pulled her jacket tighter around her. 

"Cold?" he asked. 

No, I'm just shuddering at being caught in the bathtub… still. "No, I'm okay." 

"What, no 'I'm fine?'" he said with a smile, but he was relieved she hadn't said her standard line, as it was usually a cover. 

Scully's rental car pulled to a stop in front of them, and Mulder walked toward the driver's side as the valet attendant got out. "Stop where you are, Mulder," she said sharply. 

"What?" 

"You're not driving. It's my car. I'm driving." 

"Scully, come on. I always drive." 

"Yeah. I know." On the plus side for Mulder, she wasn't raising her eyebrow at him. A big minus, however, was that she had the "I-mean-business" look on her face. The one that he usually got about three seconds before he felt the urge to apologize to her despite not knowing what he was apologizing for. 

The valet parking attendant was having fun looking between the two of them, wondering who was going to end up with the keys. While the guy _was_ standing right next to him, he looked like he was going to cave any second. And the woman… well… the woman was not only a babe and looked like she wasn't going to let up, but she'd also given him a healthy tip when she pulled into the hotel the first time. If he had any say in it, the keys were going to her. 

Scully looked at the attendant, remembering him from when she'd checked in. She thought for a moment, trying to remember his name, then bestowed him with one of her smiles. "Chris, right? You were here when I checked in." 

"That's right," he beamed. 

"It's nice to see you again. Can I have my keys, please?" she said as she walked in front of the car. 

"Of course." With a helpless shrug to Mulder, Chris walked away from the door to hand over the keys. "Here you are, miss." 

Miss. Much better. She smiled a 1000-kilowatt smile as she reached for her wallet. She took the keys with one hand, handing the valet a five-dollar bill with the other hand. "Thank you very much, Chris." 

"My pleasure." He held the door open for her as Mulder sighed and walked to the passenger side. After closing the door securely for Scully, Chris rushed over to the other side of the car to open the door for Mulder. 

"Traitor," Mulder mumbled at him. 

"A five dollar tip and a smile like that? You didn't have a chance, buddy," Chris shot back as he opened the door. 

Mulder had a hard time fighting the impulse to say "Yeah, but I've seen her in a bathtub," but resisted because the car door was open, Scully's hearing was good, and her prowess with the bumper cars might come back and getting bumped with a _real_ car didn't appeal to him. Instead, he shook his head wearily and climbed into the car. 

"So, where are we going?" she asked. 

"Hard Rock Café," he said without a pause. 

She thought for a moment. True, I pooh-poohed his lunch suggestion but… I wish he'd stop suggesting tourist places. Due to winning the car keys war, her mood was good enough that she decided to try and be reasonable rather than seething. "If it's okay with you, Mulder, could we go someplace… quieter?" 

"But… Hard Rock Café's are fun!" he protested. 

"Yeah, they're fun, but… they're really noisy. You can't hear yourself think in those places, much less talk to whoever you're eating with. Let's go someplace else, okay?" 

He glanced over at her. She wasn't frowning. In fact, she had a very pleasant, patient look on her face. She was clearly trying to be nice. He wasn't ready to cave again, though. "Don't you want to see Eric Clapton's guitar?" 

"Well… no, not really. I'm sorry." She could see he was trying to think of another angle. "How about Italian food, Mulder? I heard about a place that has excellent Italian food." No response. "I'll pay?" Still no response. Only one temptation left. "If we go there… you can drive back to the hotel," she said, trying to hide the exasperation she felt. 

"Okay." He smiled and fastened the seat belt as she started to drive. "Where're we going?" 

"Broadway and Jones. There's a map in the glove compartment. Want to play navigator?" 

"Sure. How did you decide on this car?" he asked as he looked for the map. 

"A Neon? I don't know. I guess because it wasn't like the rental cars we usually end up with." 

"And red too. How sporty of you Scully. Turn right," he pointed, staring at the map. "You need to turn right on Market, then right on Jones." 

She was about to ask why Mulder wasn't giving her directions that headed toward Russian Hill, but saw the one way street designation. "Why is it that the busiest areas of big cities have all these one-way streets?" 

"Bad town planning? But you have a point. Still, it could be worse," 

"How so?" she asked, making the turn onto Market. 

"We could be taking the bus to the restaurant," he grinned. 

"Oh, ouch. Never again." 

A bus passed by, and both of them shuddered. "Think we'll ever be able to look at those the same way?" he asked. 

"Not a chance. Every time I see a bus, I'm going to think about fish slapping against my legs." 

Mulder started laughing, quietly at first, then louder when Scully flashed a questioning look over at him. "What?" she asked. 

After a minute of raucous laughter, Mulder managed to spit out, "You… handcuffed… a guy on the bus. You… brought your handcuffs to lunch…" 

"Yeah, well you never know how a meal with you is going to turn out," she shot back, a placid little grin on her face. "Jones Street, right?" 

"Jones, right." He glanced around the interior of the car, looking at Scully behind the wheel covetously. His desire to drive was overwhelming. Sure, he'd get to drive on the way back, but… that wasn't good enough. His hands started to twist the seat belt around, then he ran his fingers over the window and door-lock controls on his side. He pushed the lever for the glove compartment over a few times, never enough to actually open it. Luckily, Scully was concentrating on maneuvering around cars that weren't following the traffic rules as well as they could have been to notice his fidgeting. Having played with everything on his side of the car, he asked, "Can I turn on the radio?" 

"Why?" 

The question inexplicably confused him. Did she really just ask why he wanted to turn on the radio? And… did that mean he had to provide an answer? Probably – it was Scully, after all. "Why do I want to turn on the radio?" 

"Yes. After all, you don't know any of the stations out here, you'll just fiddle with the dial and get a lot of static which you'll complain about because you hate the sound of a station that's not tuned in properly. And if you find stations, you'll switch mid-song without any warning which will make _me_ complain. So it's probably better that the radio stays off, don't you think?" 

Every once in a while, Mulder had a moment where he forgot how much time he'd spent with Scully, how well they knew each other, and her reminders always unnerved him. Right now, he was scared silly. "We really should be picking out china patterns," he said slowly. 

"Nah. We just go on too many road trips. There's the restaurant," she pulled to a stop across the street and looked across at the entrance. "You don't see any indication of valet parking, do you?" 

"Nope." 

"Darn." 

"Miss Scully, you live a charmed life. Valet parking? Come on, rough it and just park the car yourself." 

Her head turned slowly towards him. "You have no idea what you're saying, Mulder. Trying to find a parking place isn't as easy as it sounds." 

"How hard can it be? You find a place where someone else hasn't parked, you pull into it." 

She sighed. "Fine. But you're staying in the car with me. You take the right side, I'll take the left. You see anything at all, tell me," she said as she pulled forward. 

Three driveways and two fire hydrants were pointed out to her before she reached the corner and amended her previous instruction to "anything that looks like it might be a parking place, Mulder." She turned left on Vallejo, left on Leavenworth, left on Broadway, left onto Jones again, completing a perfect circle that afforded her a view of many of the loveliest driveways in the city, but no parking spaces. Fortunately, no one had shot into a space ahead of her, which was her Parking Pet Peeve #1. Mulder was trying hard to be helpful, but his calling out each time, "Wait, I see one, in front of the… oh, no, that's another driveway, sorry" was getting tedious. "Maybe we should try another block," he piped up. 

"We'll go around again," she replied grimly. "I don't know about you, but I can't face walking up two steep hills after we park. One, yes. Two, no way." 

"If your feet hurt afterwards, I could always give you another foot rub," he said, the wicked gleam in his eyes evident even in the dark car. 

"Your hands are never getting near my feet again, Mulder. Not after the Pulp Fiction comment." 

Three-quarters of the way through another perfect circle, just before she rounded the corner back onto Jones Street, however, Parking Pet Peeve #2 caught her attention. 

"Son of a bitch," she muttered, stopping again at the corner. 

"What?" Scully's plunge in mood hadn't gone unnoticed by Mulder, but he'd decided the wisest thing to do was shut up and look for parking. Hearing her lapse into swearing, however, merited action. 

"Over there. Look, we could've parked there if that stupid motorcycle hadn't been there, but no... he had to park lengthwise..." 

"Why do you assume it's a he?" 

He was met with a withering stare. "Look at the parking. Lengthwise. Of course it's a guy. Had to take up all the space." 

His partner was getting irrational again. And unlike the bus incident, there was no one else around for her to take her frustrations out on. Visions of ending up handcuffed to the steering wheel passed through his mind. "Before you malign my entire gender, may I make a suggestion? Why don't you let me go into the restaurant, see if there's anyplace that's not immediately visible that we can park?" 

"Mulder… are you suggesting there's a secret parking lot somewhere nearby?" 

He refused to respond to the barbed comment, saying instead, "We're patrons, they should be able to help us out, right?" 

He got as far as opening the door slightly when Scully suddenly shot forward. "What are you doing, I was getting out!" he yelled. 

"Parking space!" she yelled back, sliding into the space just vacated behind the motorcycle. "Right in front, too. If I inch forward just a little, I could knock the motorcycle over." 

"Scully, let it go. I don't want to see you messing with a biker dude tonight, okay?" 

She grumbled a little, but complied with his request and stayed a safe distance from the motorcycle. Getting out of the car, she ignored Mulder's request to move the seat back for him in preparation for his driving back to the hotel and walked into the restaurant, Mulder trailing behind her. 

They were greeted immediately by a woman introducing herself as Pamela and led to a table halfway across the small room. Mulder counted twelve tables in the restaurant as Scully pocketed her car keys. Hearing the jingling, Pamela said apologetically, "Oh, did you drive here? You must have had a terrible time parking. I wish I'd known, I'd have helped you out." 

"How?" Scully asked, praying the words "secret parking lot" wouldn't come out of Pamela's mouth. 

"I live above the restaurant and I have my bike parked right outside. For customers, I move into my driveway and, presto, instant parking space." 

Mulder grinned as Scully repeated weakly, "Bike?" 

"Yes, the motorcycle right outside, you couldn't have missed it. Well, I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Let me bring you two glasses of wine on the house to make it up to you. Melissa will be right over with menus." 

As Pamela walked away, Mulder's grin widened. He opened his mouth to comment, but Scully stopped him with, "Don't say a word." 

"I'm not going to say _anything_ about your horridly sexist comment earlier. But I'll bet you're glad you didn't tip it over now, aren't you?" 

"Yes, very glad," she said grudgingly. A waitress arrived with menus and two glasses of white wine, which they sipped while they studied the menu. "If I have carpaccio, do you want to split it with me?" Scully asked. 

"Depends on what carpaccio is. Refresh my memory." 

"It's extremely rare beef with capers and lemons," she said patiently. 

"Extremely rare? As in raw? Scully… you're a doctor. You're going to eat raw meat? After some of the things we've seen in the past few years, you're going to eat raw meat?" 

"I have to believe a restaurant like this knows how to prepare it correctly, Mulder." 

"Well… that's just fine," he shot back, still squeamish about the mere idea of being served raw meat. "Look at this, penne arrabiata. Angry pasta." 

"Angry pasta?" she said idly, her attention focusing on one item on the menu that she knew she'd be having. 

"Angry pasta. Spicy, it says. Guess spices are what makes a pasta angry. I'll try it." 

Scully smiled to herself. Trust Mulder to go for the food with the adjective in the name. "Are you going to have an appetizer?" Scully asked when she saw a waiter walking towards them. 

"Nah, I think I'll just start with the pissed-off pasta." 

"Okay, I think I'll just have an entrée too." 

"Scully, if you want the raw… carpaccio, have it. Don't not order it because of me. I'll keep my mouth shut while you eat it." 

"It's all right, Mulder, it doesn't really go with my entrée anyway." In response to Mulder's "Are you sure?" she smiled and nodded as the waiter approached to take their orders. The orders conveyed to the kitchen, the waiter re- approached with the bottle of wine. Mulder, to Scully's surprise, suggested ordering a full bottle, unusual for him in that she'd never seen him as a big wine-drinker. Since it was a special occasion, she agreed. They passed the few minutes before their meals arrived drinking the wine, discussing the clown on the label, confirming that, to Mulder, it was a non-threatening clown, which led naturally enough to their own experiences with clowns as children and why Mulder might find them threatening. 

Dana Scully waited patiently for the waiter to finish grating fresh Parmesan cheese on her dinner. Gnocchi quattro formaggi...sounded too good to be true. It wasn't conducive to staying in shape, but cheese was her downfall. The more, the better! She looked across the table at Mulder, who was eyeing his penne arrabiata skeptically. "Just eat it, Mulder." Picking up her fork, she pushed the gnocchi around a little, making sure the cheese sauce was covering every dumpling in her dish. She speared a piece on to her fork and put it into her mouth. Heaven. Nothing short of heaven. The food was so good, it was obscene. She devoured another mouthful, and another. Mulder was scooting his food around on his plate. It was tasty, but nothing amazing. "So, Scully. How's your dinner?" Mulder couldn't be sure, but he thought she mumbled something about not spoiling it by talking about it. "It's just pasta, Scully." Mulder stopped for a moment and watched her eat. He strained, almost certain that she was moaning with every bite. _Moaning_! His eyes widened as his prim little partner licked her fork. In public, in a restaurant. He wasn't certain she'd been as intimate with a man in recent history as she was being with that fork. Lucky fork. Her eyes were half lidded, cheeks flushed. He was transfixed, and it was all he could do not to think about sex. To even entertain such thoughts while looking at Scully seemed blasphemous somehow. Sure, he was a human male. He'd noticed Scully before. Hell, she'd disrobed in front of him on their first case. But this was the first time he'd even come remotely close to entertaining sexual thoughts about her. And not making-love-on-a-bed-of- rose-petal type of sexual thoughts. Back arching, sweat dripping, headboard-banging-against-the-wall, screaming loud enough to wake the neighbors down the street kind of sexual thoughts. He had to stop, _now_. He picked up his water, drinking it down in large swallows. He wiped his mouth, ignoring the droplets that had escaped his mouth and had tumbled to rest upon his sweater. He noticed Scully had a little bit of cheese sauce left on the corner of her mouth. His first impulse was to reach over and wipe it off for her. Ah, who the hell was he kidding? His first impulse, after watching her eat that was to crawl across the table and lick the cheese sauce right off her lips. Scully looked up from her plate, aware that Mulder was staring at her. She grabbed her napkin and wiped her mouth. She must have had some sauce stuck there. She casually finished the last two bites, not sure what Mulder's problem was. Pushing the plate away from her, she sighed, settling back in her chair. "God, that was _amazing_, Mulder. How's yours?" Mulder couldn't answer. He was too busy shoveling his dinner into his mouth as fast as he could. If he didn't stuff his mouth, he was going to say, or worse _do_, something that would get him so far on Scully's bad side, he'd never see the light of day again. It must have been a record, he ate the pasta so fast. The waiter popped by their table just as Mulder finished his dinner. "Can I interest you folks in some dessert? We have a delectable Chocolate Mousse." "None for me, I'm stuffed. But if the Mousse is half as good as her dinner was, I'd pay money to watch her eat it." 

Scully's eyebrows shot up, eyes wide as saucers. Did Mulder just say what she _thought_ he said? She threw an embarrassed smile at the waiter. "No dessert for me, thank you." 

As the waiter turned to walk away, Mulder felt the full force of her size seven shoe connect with his shin. "Oooof! C'mon, Scully, it was a joke!" 

But his partner had already grabbed her purse and was heading for the door. Mulder swore under his breath, and waved the waiter over for the check. He did the math to figure out the tip and just threw a wad of bills on the table. "Keep the change!" He rushed out the door after Scully. 

Scully was already across the street and almost to the car by the time Mulder exited the restaurant. "Scully, wait up! You said I could drive, remember?" 

He couldn't hear Scully's reply correctly, but was certain that it was less than polite judging by the accompanying hand gesture. 'Here we go again,' Mulder sighed. He just couldn't win. He jogged a little to catch up with Scully. She could sure move when she was pissed. 

He was stopped in his tracks when something cold and hard made contact with his chest. For the briefest second, he thought she'd shot him. Then he heard the distinct tinkle of metal on asphalt. He stooped down, picking up the glinting object in front of him. It was the keys to Scully's rental car. "Gee, thanks," he muttered. 

"Scully, I'm sorry. I didn't mean -" 

"Save it, Mulder." 

"But I - " 

"Shut. Up. Mulder." 

He could tell there would be no reasoning with her. He didn't really blame her, though. That had been highly inappropriate of him to say. Thank God he hadn't voiced any of the other thoughts he was having while watching her indulge in her dinner. He unlocked the driver's side door and hit the button to unlock the rest of the doors. 

Scully wrenched her door open, got in the car roughly, and slammed the door shut after her. If she had pulled any harder on her seatbelt, she would have ripped it right off the door frame. 

Mulder backed the car out of the space, turning left onto Broadway. He wasn't quite sure he was going the right way, but there was no way in Hell he was going to ask Scully for help. She'd rip his head off and serve it to him on a silver platter. 

He was startled out of his thoughts by four angry words. "What did you mean?" 

"What?" Probably not the smartest thing to say, but he had been concentrating on remembering how to get back to Union Square. 

"The dessert comment. Where the hell do you get off saying something like that?" Angry, wounded blue eyes turned their piercing gaze on him. 

There was more than anger in her voice. There was hurt. He'd really stepped in it now. "Look, Scully. I'm sorry. I don't know where it came from. It's just that you were so…in to…your dinner. Enjoying it. REALLY enjoying it. I guess my mind wandered," he admitted sheepishly. "I really meant nothing by it." 'Liar!' He chastised himself. 

"Whatever, Mulder. I just can't believe you said that. To the waiter, even. It was unprofessional, demeaning…" her voice trailed off. 

"Damn it, Scully, I said I was sorry, what more do you want from me?" 

"There isn't anything you can do to make up for that level of humiliation." 

Mulder was fast moving from contrite to frustrated. He threw his hands up and shot back, "Well, why don't I just wrap the car around the next tree and put us both out of our misery?" 

Scully's scream brought him back to the here and now. "Mulder, LOOK OUT!" 

There was a sickening crunch as the fiberglass fender collided with the hard metal of the fire hydrant. The car skidded up onto the sidewalk, turning sideways, throwing Mulder and Scully around viciously. The front tires wedged against the curb, the driver's door jammed against a city trash can. Water was spurting out from under the trashed car. 

"This is just fitting," she spat at him, pushing her door open and stepping out. Scully realized, all too late, that a torrent of water was running out from under the car, taking her feet with them. She landed on her rear and slid a few feet down the steep street. "Agggghhhhhh!" She yelled, feeling the heel break off one shoe, the other one sliding off entirely. "Son of a BITCH!" She pushed herself to her feet and walked down the street gingerly, never looking back. 

*** 

Scully walked into the room, repeating to herself "He's a dead man." If Mulder had _tried_ to ruin he vacation, he couldn't have done a better job than he actually did, in his unintentional way. Barging in on her however many times, the horrible lunch experience where he killed a harmless flirtation with the waiter, making her walk all over hell's half-acre looking for a cab, getting her on the bus. All of these were bad enough, but the conversation at the restaurant was the worst. Mulder had _never_ said anything remotely sexual to her in the history of their partnership, but… the crack about dessert was more than enough for her. While she mentally listed his errors, she threw her clothes and toiletries into her bags. Then she stopped herself. Looking down at her luggage, she said out loud "What am I doing?" I'm going to let Mulder ruin a perfectly good vacation, she thought. No, I'm not going home. My vacation was fine when Mulder wasn't around, I'll just have to fix it so Mulder isn't around, she thought. But, moving to another hotel at two in the morning wasn't a pleasant thought. Maybe… 

After making a phone call to the front desk, Scully finished her packing. Once she was done, sat on the edge of the bed. Now what? I can't just move. That's too easy. Nah, Mulder needs some torture, the way he tortured me. But, what can I do without being in front of him? She glanced around the room while trying to come up with a distant but vengeful thought. Then her attention was caught by the small brown leather notebook. If only they were still open. 

*** 

Mulder dragged himself through the lobby to the elevator, wincing with every step. Scully was never going to let him hear the end of this one. Wrecking her rental car. While he'd paid to have it towed, and had already arranged with the rental car company to pay for all the damages, he had a feeling that wouldn't satisfy her. Best defense would just be to tell her all charges were on him, apologize for the dinner comment, and leave her alone until she sought him out the next day. He glanced at his watch. Four fifteen. Doubtless she'd still be awake, fuming. Better to tell her immediately that she didn't have to worry about the car. 

As he got out of the elevator and turned toward his door, he saw a small table sitting in the hallway. As got closer, he realized it was right outside his door, and was a room service cart with a small silver cover over one plate. Lifting the cover, he saw it. A perfect serving of chocolate mousse, with a single bite out of it. Beside it on the plate lay a spoon that bore the unmistakable traces of chocolate that had been licked off of it. 

Letting out an odd mixture of a strangled cry and a gasp, Mulder ran to Room 2722 and banged on the door. No answer. "Scully, open up. You're not playing fair," he called. Still no answer. He ran to his room, flung open the door, then called 2722. No answer. Frustrated beyond belief, he called the hotel operator. "Connect me with room 2722," he demanded. 

"Sir…" the operator started. 

"2722," Mulder repeated. 

"But… sir… the party in Room 2722 checked out half an hour ago." 

"What? Could you connect me with the front desk?" he said, incredulous. She… checked out on me, he thought. Impossible. After a brief talk with the concierge, Mulder confirmed that Ms. Dana Scully had indeed checked out of Room 2722. No, they couldn't say what hotel she'd moved to. And, yes, they'd send someone up to collect the room service table… and did Mr. Mulder know the chocolate mousse had been charged to his room? With a weary shake of his head, Mulder hung up the phone. Looking up at the ceiling, he said with a smile, "Okay, Scully, you got me." Walking to close his door, he looked at the chocolate mousse, and got weak-kneed merely thinking of Scully taking that single bite. "Wish I could've seen that," he said sadly as he closed the door with his foot. 

As the door closed, a quiet laugh came from around the corner. Scully peeked out again, made sure that Mulder's door was securely closed, then laughed again as she thought of the half-wistful, half-lustful look on his face when he took the last look at the dessert. "I got you big time," she said, walking quietly to the open door of Room 2788 and shutting it behind her. 

_The End_ 09 January, 2000 


End file.
